The Odd Predicament
by Jess the Great
Summary: Slash! Snape finally thought that he was rid of Potter. Now the idiot boy has come back to teach, and is flirting with Snape! What to do?
1. Suicide Isn't the Answer!

OH, HO HO HO HO HO HO HO HO!!!!!!!! Oh, wow, this is just too cute of an idea. I will never get over how cute this is. Slash haters, flame away! H/S haters, flame away! 'Cuz ships ahoy or however you say it! I'm finally, after months of reading, am writing an H/S fanfict. HP doesn't belong to me! Updated June 3rd for grammatical errors.  
  
****The Odd Predicament****  
  
Potter. How I loathe that foolish boy. I can't even begin to describe my hatred towards him. He's perfect, yet so horribly imperfect. He stands for everything that is good, but is evil, at least in /my/ eyes. Not that anyone else would have ever known or seen that side of Potter. That's because no one else has ever fought beside him for weeks on end. No one but the two of us was there when Potter showed his true side. Everyone else who saw it was killed during that last duel. Ah, and may I add that I hope Voldemort's body rots in hell for the rest of eternity?  
  
Anyway, back to Potter. Yes, our dear little, precious, perfect Potter has a dark, evil side. I'm the only one who lived to tell the tale. How ironic... I'm the man who lived the boy who lived. But yes, Potter can be just about as evil as Tom Riddle himself- not that he shows it. Oh, no, mustn't show his dark side. If he ever let it out again, he would have never gotten that job from Albus this year.  
  
Which brings me to my reason of Potter bashing- Not that I usually have one, but I do this time. Albus Dumbledore, greatest wizard of all time, who gave me a second chance in giving me a job, gave /Potter/ a job- /the/ job. Bloody Potter stole the job I've been wanting for years- Defense Against the Dark Arts.  
  
When he graduated six years ago... wow... six years ago... how come it seems like I've only seen him yesterday? Ah, that's right- because I did! Back to what I was saying, when Potter graduated six years ago, I prayed to every god that I could think of (whether it was Catholic, Roman or Greek) and I thanked them for ridding me of that wretched boy. Voldemort was killed in his last and entirely too long of a last year, and I was absolutely positive I would never see the boy who lived again, perhaps in the Daily Prophet, but never in real life. Damn, was I ever in for a surprise when I walked into the staff room at 7:30 AM August 31st to see Harry Potter sitting in /my/ chair sipping coffee.  
  
All the events afterwards are pretty self-explanatory. I asked him what the hell he was doing here, he replied he was teaching, I asked him what subject, he said DADA, I hexed him, he hexed me back, end of story.  
  
So now, here am I, sitting in the Great Hall. Oh, how I wish I could just kill every single on of these children so that I may be at peace. The lot of them are entirely too loud, and the Great Hall conveniently has great acoustics. I suddenly want to go back into time and kill the founders.  
  
But as if the sound wasn't bad enough, I would have never guessed who would want sit their sorry arse down next to my seat for the rest of the school year. It's sort of a tradition with the faculty that wherever you sit for the start of term feast, you'll sit there for the rest of the year. Yes, so there was I, minding my own Slytherin business when Harry Potter decides to take a seat- next to me. Oh, why do the unforgivable curses have to be unforgivable?  
  
So he sits down, and does something I didn't expect after hexing him a few more limbs and warts that lasted eight hours yesterday. He smiles at me. Stunned, I did the only thing I'm used to doing- I sneer back. He chuckles. I scoff. Foolish boy.  
  
Our little staring contest was broken when a new batch of ready-to-piss-me- off-children enter the hall. Ooh, they look promising. For those of you who couldn't tell, I'm being sarcastic. Minerva begins to explain the procedure of the sorting hat (after it sang its oh so delightful song) in that annoying wavering voice of hers that never stays on one pitch, and I sigh. It's going to be a long year.  
  
One by one, the children are called to sit on that stool and put that decrepit hat on their heads. I always wondered what would happen if one of the children had lice. The hat called out houses and I made sure to sneer at every single child that enters the Slytherin house. It is my proud duty to at least make sure one child every year soils itself in my first lesson. I might as well get a head start.  
  
Ah, they give me withering gazes as I narrow my eyes at them. How it warms my heart to see I can terrify one child so much just by looking at them in the right way. The fact that they are horrified by the time the come to my first lesson of the year, and I yet have to speak of them is just too wonderful. And to be truthful, I think my reputation is just splendid.  
  
Then something interrupts my train of thought during the sorting. I feel something warm brush up against my drooped hands. I didn't even realize I was slouching and I have my arms over the armrest of the chair just dangling there. How odd of me. I straighten up my back at least, and look to where the source of the flirting was. I knew it wasn't accidental, because it happened again before I even got a chance to see who it was.  
  
I turn my head to the left. Potter. I forgot he was here amidst my musings of the children. I now narrow my eyes at him, just as if he were still one of the students. What the hell does he think he's doing? I then begin to hope if it was accidental.  
  
Long fingers brush my palm and tickle my hand slightly. I yank my hand up and put it over my chest. I didn't even realize how hard my heart is pounding. Ooh, Potter, you're in for it. This is frustrating... I'm almost turned on. I think I shall jump off the Astronomy tower if my face is flushed.  
  
Potter looks at me innocently as if to ask what was wrong with me. He knows perfects well what's wrong with me! I narrow my eyes to little black slits at him, and he smirks. His emerald eyes bore into my onyx ones, as if telling me that he /was/ aiming all of his flirtations at me. And then he winks- at me.  
  
My eyes widen and I can feel my face turn hot. Astronomy tower, here I come. I'm about to yell at him when suddenly there's food on my plate.  
  
I'm going to kill Potter. Not only have I missed half of my opportunities to glare at every single child of the first year, but also now the whole Great Hall is looking in my direction. More specifically, to the bastard who is sitting to the left of me.  
  
"Ah yes," Albus says, clearing his throat, "I almost forgot. This year we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, an alumnus of Hogwarts. I believe he will make an exceptional addition to the staff. May I introduce Professor Harry Potter?"  
  
Oh, Merlin, kill me now. The whole entire Great Hall is looking at Potter who is next to me. And I'm still bright as a damn Gryffindor scarf. Hopefully they will all be to engrossed with the fact that famous Harry Potter has come back to teach that they won't notice.  
  
But I notice with dread, as Potter stands up for recognition how nice of an arse he has. I close my eyes with a groan and lean back into the chair. Yes, this is going to be a very, /very/ long year.  
  
Other than the flirting fiasco, the meal was uneventful. That is, if you don't count the suggestive looks Potter were giving me. I wondered fleetingly as the brat decided to swirl his tongue around a corn dog if he was plastered. Yes, yes, Potter had a bit too much to drink before he came. He went out with the Weasley child and they both got smashed at the local pub. After all, he is twenty-three- an adult.  
  
I think I told myself that about twenty times during the meal. I didn't help any better that Potter decided that he wanted an ice cream sandwich for desert and got the vanilla ice cream all over himself. Honestly, I never knew he could be such a slob. Then I realized I just caught myself trying to change the subjects in my mind to keep away the thought of my ever rising interest and of Potter trying to lick the ice cream right on the corner of his mouth. Merlin, I needed to get out of here.  
  
Once the feast was done, I bolted out of there. I struggled not to look back at Potter as I hurriedly made my way down to the dungeons. If Potter were to do this every single meal, I was done for. I will write my will and suicide letter and jump off the Astronomy tower. This is bad, really bad. Oh, Merlin, this is atrocious.  
  
I find Potter attractive.  
  
Please someone, anyone, kill me now. I think I shall curl up into a little ball and die now, thank you. Yet at the same time I think this, I can only wonder what would happen to Potter if I miraculously died. Would he care at all? And if I didn't die, could he and I ever...  
  
I stop looking for my arsenic. Oh, Merlin, did I just think that? This isn't good. no, no, not good at all. I stumble around and find my liquor cabinet. I wretch out the Firewhisky, and drown my troubles. Perhaps I'll forget about it by the morrow.  
  
****  
  
No such luck, I think with a headache. I wonder to myself a hundred times over why I had to choose the Firewhisky. I down a Pepper-up potion and take a quick shower and all that good shite. Yes, I wash my hair, thank you very much. It just gets greasy from all of the chemicals and potions.  
  
I trudge down the Great Hall once again, and am reminded at why I chose the Firewhisky.  
  
There is Potter sitting in his now assigned chair drinking coffee and eating eggs and toast. It's hard to see the young man look so innocent when he was... well, for lack of better words, naughty. Perhaps he /was/ plastered last night.  
  
But when he looks up from his food and winks at me, I think perhaps he wasn't. That's it; I have got to talk to him. I'm not going to play this game the whole year. I can't stand the fact that he can make me turned on.  
  
I stride over to him with my robes billowing behind me. Did I ever mention how I love these robes? They just add to my bastard effect so well. The children cower as I march on past.  
  
I sweep over to my chair to sit down and glare at him. He pretends not to notice- I know he notices- and keeps on eating his breakfast. I seethe.  
  
"Potter," I address him. I have always addressed him by his surname. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" My voice is just above a deadly whisper, but I know he can hear me, for he answers.  
  
"I'm eating my breakfast, as should you. It's the most important meal of the day." He was always the smart arse.  
  
I growl at him, and hate the way that it doesn't affect him. "You know what I mean, last night at the start of term feast. You were /flirting/ with me."  
  
He puts his fork down, and looks at me. "And?"  
  
Merlin, how can one person be so irritating? Just by one gesture and one word, he has royally pissed me off.  
  
He sighs as if /he's/ irritated, and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Listen Severus," I cringe. I forgot that we're co-workers and that he is allowed to use my given name, but also because I like the way it sounds on his tongue, "I don't see why it would be such a big deal. I mean, you're what? Twenty years older than me, that makes you forty- three. And it's probably been since you were my age since you've had any sort of relationship, whether it was emotional or physical or even both."  
  
I gape at him. How the hell...  
  
"It's obvious, though.," He went on, "You've had this big stick up your arse since the first day I met you. You obviously haven't /gotten/ any arse in a long while. So hey, it's been twenty years for you, twenty months for me- why not? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, am I right?"  
  
I am gob smacked. How dare he suggest that he and I be-be-  
  
"You want me to be your fuck buddy?" I asked him.  
  
Potter shrugged, "Eventually. I was thinking first a snog buddy, then a mutual masturbation buddy, then a b.j buddy, /then/ a fuck buddy, and possibly a rimm-"  
  
"OK! I got the idea." I shudder. I didn't want to think about... no, just... no.  
  
"So will you?" He asked, as if asking me to pass him the cream.  
  
My eyes narrowed, "I never knew you were a comedian."  
  
His eyes twinkled, "I never knew you liked to play hard-to-get." He sat back in his chair as I growled at him once more, like he just won the argument. Hah. He was far from it. "So how about we take it slow?"  
  
I could almost feel my blood pressure rising- "How about no?"  
  
"Oh, so I'll stop by at 9, shall I?" -and my IQ dropping.  
  
I took in a deep breath and counted to 10. "Potter, I said no, get it through your thick skull."  
  
"Oh, I know that you said no. But do you honestly mean it? I think not. Fine, We won't be snog buddies or fuck buddies. I promise you that." He smiled at me. What is he hiding? He held out his hand. "Friends?"  
  
I looked at the hand as if it were carrying an acid that would burn my flesh upon my touch. Shaking hands with this idiot won't do me any good, but what harm would it be to shake it anyway? So I did. Bad mistake.  
  
He brushed his thumb on the backside of my hand, making me shiver uncontrollably, and successfully turning me on once more. I yanked back my hand. "I thought you said."  
  
He gave me a wicked grin, "I never said that friends don't flirt."  
  
And before I had a chance to answer, the owls fluttered in. Usually when the mail comes, that's my signal to prepare for the first class of day. Who did I have again? Ah, yes, 3rd year Gryffindor and Ravenclaws. Not too bad, I could have worse. Such as Gryffindor and Slytherin. Oh, how I loathe when they put those two together. After every one of those I feel like drowning my troubles in a good couple glasses of brandy, then passing out on my sofa.  
  
I didn't even bother to bid Potter good day as I excused myself from the table, but Potter decided to compensate for my lack of formalities. He stood up and shouted to me, "See you at lunch, Severus!"  
  
I had to stop myself to keep on walking until I reached the Astronomy tower, and once I did enter my classroom, I had to make sure that I didn't go searching for my arsenic. It was then I realized how cynical of a man I am. I never used to be /this/ bad. I mean, I have the arsenic for a good reason, but I never had to stop myself from searching for it. Potter will be my death, I decided.  
  
****  
  
Well, the classes weren't all too bad. In matter of fact, I'm pleased to say I still have an appalling effect on third years still. I often wonder where I get this horrible attitude from, this dreadful inclination that yes, I, Severus Amadeus Snape must freak all children out. Perhaps it was my father; I never knew him. He was killed by the time my mother was 8 months pregnant. Hah. Sucks to be her. She had to raise /me/ all by herself. I'm so glad I was born male. And gay. I'll never have to take care of child of my own.  
  
I also never fully realized just how randy the 5th years are. You see, they have just discovered the sexual pleasures of one another's body, and can't get enough of it. It's disgusting when I have to take twenty points off of Hufflepuff because some hormonally charged 15 year old had to grope a girl. It's repulsive. I was never that outrageous. Of course, by the time I was his age, I realized that yes, males can be just as good (hell, even better) fucks as females could be. It wasn't until seventh year that I realized that I was destined to fuck men for the rest of my life.  
  
After that I went down to lunch. I strode through the Great Hall as normal, and enjoyed the looks I got from students of all ages. Not that I showed it. I had to keep my nasty demeanor look. But I lost it all once I saw Potter. Shite. I forgot about him. I /knew/ my day was going just a bit too well.  
  
I grumbled and decided to suck it up. I might as well, being that I have to sit next to him for the rest of the school year. And so, who cares that it's only the second day of school. Potter might loose his seemingly infatuation with me and might be an interesting person. Or he might not, I thought as he raised his eyebrows at me from afar. Even from this distance I could see that his gorgeous green eyes were sparkling with a hunger for meat, and I'm not talking about lunchmeat.  
  
Oh, Merlin, what is happening to me? I used to be able to make this boy tremble underneath me and be nervous around me. Why have the tables turned? And when was it that Potter decided he wanted to have a sultry image? Oh, and Merlin, when didn't I ever noticed that he has muscles and dark tan skin from Quidditch?  
  
I hate Potter. I honestly do. I despise him. I loathe his every being.  
  
I want to shag him on the spot.  
  
I think I physically winced as I sat down and that thought came across my mind. This is turning out to be a nightmare. What is happening to me? Last night I wanted to murder Potter on the spot, now, not even twenty-four hours later, I want to shag him right here and now? I know- I'm going mad. That has got to be it. Albus has finally gotten into my head and I am now deranged.  
  
I didn't even realize I was in a slouching position yet again until warm fingers brushed up against mine once more. I must be going mad. Send me off to St. Mungo's. I touched his fingers back.  
  
His fingers began to lightly trace the palm side of my digits, and I echoed his movements. Our palms slightly touched one another for a moment, and then, as though tentative, touched once again.  
  
His hand swirled along palm until finding the right position. Then, with a mad thumping heart, intertwined his fingers with mine.  
  
I couldn't breath. My brain shut down. The only things going on my mind were sporadic thoughts. I couldn't think, I only felt Potter's hand laced with mine, and his thumb slowly rubbing my thumb.  
  
I jerkily but slowly turned my head to look at Potter. He was acting as though nothing was going on, which was smart. I turned back, and I knew my face was red as a damn Gryffindor scarf, but I...  
  
Oh, Merlin, send me to St. Mungo's now. I beg of thee. Rid me of this madness.  
  
I didn't care. 


	2. St Mungo's Reject

I hope more people will review in time. I actually like this story. ^.^ HP doesn't belong to me! Updated June 3rd for grammatical... err... updating.  
  
****The Odd Predicament****  
  
I honestly begin to wonder, as I sit here in my 4th year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff class that if St. Mungo's will take in willing patients. I'm starting to seriously consider this. I mean, one would think after spying for so many years, teaching children for over fifteen years and then this Potter parade, that I would go mad. Oh, how I dreadfully wish.  
  
And there goes another cauldron. I often ponder about how much money the parents of these children must spend on them in this class alone. With books, gloves, ingredients and cauldrons, it has ought to cost a fortune. I, myself never had to buy more than two cauldrons in my whole Potions career. I only bought the second one because I wanted a silver one. It's rather gorgeous, if I do say so myself. It has all sorts of engravings of ivory and all that nonsense.  
  
Back to what I was saying, I think that if Dumbledore won't let me go to St. Mungo's willingly, then I shall escape at the dead of night. Honestly, I have the whole plan written down here. After dinner I shall wait until the whole castle is silent except for that damn poltergeist and creep out through one of the back entrances. Once I'm off Hogwarts grounds, I'll apparate. Poof. I'll be in St. Mungo's. And everything shall be blissfully, blissfully happy.  
  
****  
  
I don't think I can go. I mean, I still think I'm insane, but I don't think I'll be able to do it. The plan is flawless, for sure, but I can't. It's not that I don't have the nerves, I do, but I just can't. Yet, I want to go for all of the dark life in me. Oh, I'm tearing myself into two. I'll end up in St. Mungo's by the end of this year I know it. I'll go out of my mind and then Dumbledore will have to send me there.  
  
I'm holding hands with Potter yet again.  
  
Oh, Merlin! I feel like some sort of child, an elementary student! No, I think that elementary students take this holding hand business better than I do. I don't think they feel their hearts in their throats and their heads swimming. Nor do I think that the elementary students rub their thumbs in little circles on the other one's hand. And, alas, children don't get turned on by the fact of /who/ is holding their hand.  
  
Damn Potter. May his body rot in hell with Voldemort's. I hope he dies a horrible death. Not a mediocre death, but a horrible death. Maybe he will die by getting trampled by a herd of rampaging hippogriffs, or perhaps drowning. I heard that drowning is a horrible way to die. You keep on wanting air, but your lungs are getting full of water instead. Yes. That's it. I'll push him into the lake in the middle of January. That way I can add the hypothermia effect with that, too.  
  
Why aren't I pulling away? Why do I want to lean into that touch, that horrible, wretched touch? Oh, Merlin, why do I welcome it, look forward to it, want it? Why does it seem like that I almost need it? I think it's the fact that I'm such a lonely bastard. Right now at this point in my life, I'm desperate. Hell, if Dumbledore starting holding hands with me, I'll appreciate it. I glance at Dumbledore and decide perhaps not.  
  
But yes, it's the fact that I'm so damn lonely. Not that I'll ever admit this out loud, but I'm lonely. Potter was right by saying that I haven't had someone in my life since my early twenties. But I'm not 43. yet. I'll be 43 on December 19th. But it's close enough. Hmm. It's a month away tomorrow.  
  
Now, what I'm wondering is that who was Potter fucking twenty months ago. Was it a boy or a girl? Probably a boy... I always knew he swung the other way. I think I have a gift at telling whether these children will be straight or gay before they fully realize it. It's sort of scary at how perfect my predictions are. Move over Trelawney, I can actually make real predictions.  
  
So here am I, trying very hard at eating my dinner with just one hand. Goodness, I sort of wish the boy would let go. It's very hard to eat steak with one hand. And I scare myself by hoping that idiot never pulls away. Oh, Merlin, I'm loosing it.  
  
OK, I can't stand not being able to eat one of my favourite foods. I happen to love steak. Especially the way these elves make it. It's just a little pink in the middle with a great steak sauce. Mmm. Finally, I give Potter a look. He just gives me on back. I look at my steak hurriedly. I love steak. His eyes widen in understanding. He then unlaces his fingers with mine, but not too fast. It seems as if the whole world slowed down as we take our hands apart. He leaves feather touches on each one of my fingers, and I finally get to pick up my fork.  
  
Mmm. Steak. Ooh, they even have mashed potatoes and peas and a buttery dinner roll. Merlin, those house elves are getting themselves up there in my personal ranks. I happen to disagree with Potter when it comes to Breakfast being the most important meal of the day. I happen to think Dinner is. It's the last thing you eat /before/ your breakfast. That's a usually almost over ten hours long without food. That's a long time if you think about it.  
  
So as I was saying, I'm sitting here munching happily at my steak. Yes, I'm happy. Its not every day that you get served steak and a very good looking young man keeps on flashing you seductive looks. I happen to be very happy at this moment in time. After I'm done, Potter doesn't even waste a second.  
  
"So are you going to the Quidditch match tomorrow?" He asks me.  
  
Oh, damn, I forgot about the Quidditch match. It's Slytherin vs. Gryffindor. I didn't bother going to the first match of the year in early October. It was Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff. I didn't see the point of watching that game.  
  
"If my work doesn't interfere, yes." I answer him. I know it won't, but I don't like giving straight answers.  
  
Potter just grins. "So I'll save you a seat in the stands, shall I?"  
  
I blink at him. Did I say it was a definite yes? I didn't think so. Merlin, I hate that boy. He just keeps on talking, too.  
  
"I heard it's supposed to be a bit chilly," He says. Sometimes I want to smack him. Of /course/ it's going to be chilly. It's bloody November.  
  
He leans over from his chair so he's almost two inches away from my face. Merlin, I swear my heart will burst by the end of this school year. "We'll have to keep each other warm," He tells me in a low voice, just above a whisper, " 'Don't want to be getting a cold, now do we?"  
  
He looks straight into my eyes and I feel like I'm falling a thousand meters. I feel dazed and confused, and I probably look it. Surly he didn't mean. Oh, Merlin, I don't know what will happen first. Will my heart burst or will I be sent to St. Mungo's?  
  
I nod dumbly at him. I know I will regret this action tomorrow.  
  
****  
  
I know I'm being torn apart from limb to limb. I feel as if one side of me wants to go north and the other south. I know I should listen to my mind, but I want to listen to my heart. Or is it vice versa? I don't even know anymore. I feel as if I have fallen into the Bermuda triangle and cannot escape.  
  
The wind hitting my face is rather bitter and brisk. The air practically smells of snow. All of the leaves have fallen off the trees and now lay on the ground. It is dreadfully cold for this time of year, the wind is whooshing by and it doesn't help any that fourteen children on brooms are rushing by when the wind doesn't.  
  
I hope one of them falls. I honestly don't care if it is one of my students or a Gryffindor. I think that would just make my day. The wind is so strong; it is making all the players off balance. I think I shall laugh if one of them gets pushed off their brooms and lands flat on the face into the hard ground. I haven't laughed for some time now, so it would have to be quite and accomplishment. But I don't think it would make my day, per say.  
  
I'm sitting next to Potter who is wrapped up in a very heavy black wool cloak. He has a floppy hat that covers his unruly hair and his damn Gryffindor scarf still on. How immature. Oh, and a pair of gloves. I don't like the gloves all that much. Hell, I want to take my gloves off. I want to feel his hand upon my hand, not just glove. Yes, we're holding hands, yet again. But unlike the Great Hall where we have separate chairs and can't get that entire close, we're on a bench and can be as close as we want. Not that I'm complaining. Or I might be. As I said before, I'm torn into two. What an odd predicament I am in.  
  
We're shoulder to shoulder, although I still have a good ten centimeters on him. It still disturbs me at how tall he is. I remember when he came up to my waist, now he comes up to my nose. Hell, if you add in his hair, he comes up to my eyebrows.  
  
Anyway, we're shoulder to shoulder and we're as close as two people can get when sitting side by side. I'm surprised that none of the staff have taken notice. Or perhaps they have, and do not want to say anything about it. Maybe I have a reputation among the teachers here as well. Sometimes I make myself proud.  
  
HA! HAHAHAHAHAHA!! Oh, /Merlin/! This is rich, this is wonderful, this is /fantastic/! A child has fallen off his broom! The wind blew him right off! And best of all, a /Gryffindor/! So, it's only a Chaser, but that's besides the fact! Oh, this is too great. Hah! And now Poppy has to attend to the child. Oh, Merlin, perhaps that did make my day. I have to cover my mouth in order to stop myself from laughing right out.  
  
It's the little things in life. Well, perhaps it's more like the little sadistic things in life. Ah, I think the child has a broken leg. And here I was just hoping for a sprained wrist. Yes, it's defiantly broken. I'm glad that I don't have a weak stomach.  
  
I forgot that Potter was next to me. I think he must have a dog relative. He always wants attention. Maybe Black had finally gotten to him. Or maybe I am hallucinating. But nothing I was working with today had side effects of hallucinogens. Or maybe Potter isn't here at all, and I'm a schizophrenic. No, I have deleted the possibility that I am going to St. Mungo's. The nurses there assured me last night that I wasn't insane. No, I have a new plan.  
  
I'm converting. I want to go far, far away from the wizarding world and go into the muggle one. Then I shall learn the ways of a priest and dedicate the rest of my life to His name. I'm serious. First I decided that I shall go to a service then confess my sins, then slowly learn about everything there is to know, then become a priest, or reverend, or anything- just something besides Potions Master at Hogwarts' school of witchcraft and wizardry. I'm attending mass on Sunday.  
  
I felt some pressure against my right shoulder. I turned my head slightly and noticed it was Potter's head resting atop my shoulder. His brilliant green eyes are closed, and clumps of his ebony hair that hang down from his hat are brushing against his face. His lips are parted slightly, and I assume he is a sleep.  
  
How can he stand that? My robe, like his, is made of wool. Wool isn't the most comfortable material to sleep on. It feels like you're sleeping on sandpaper. Well, I guess he'd sleep on just about anything. He looked pretty tired for the last couple days.  
  
One clump on his black hair his tickles his nose in the wind. It annoyed the hell out of me. He must be one hell of a heavy sleeper, because I wouldn't be able to stand that. Irritated, I brush is away.  
  
Oh, Merlin, it's so soft. I suddenly want to take off his hat and run my fingers through it all. This is so horrible, I have to stay away from such temptations, and so I rest my free hand back on my lap. He's still loosely holds my right hand.  
  
I look back down at the commotion, and they're taking that child to the infirmary. The game will commence again soon. I look at the scoreboard and it's 0 - 0. This is going to be a long game.  
  
Tentatively, I rest my head atop his. Perhaps wool isn't that bad as I used to think it was. Or maybe it's the person who is wearing it. Whatever it was, I'm overcome with sleep. My eyes droop slowly, and I drift into sleep.  
  
The next thing I know is everyone screaming because Gryffindor won with 350 - 120. 


	3. The Ultimate Sinner

Yay! More reviews! This is more than likely going to be the last chapter. Thanks for staying with me. Oh, note- Sev said that he was going to a service that coming Sunday. I won't mention it in the plot, but he couldn't go then because of a previous engagement. He has to attend a mass at a later date. I'm only saying this because I know people will complain. HP doesn't belong to me. Updated June 3rd for grammatical updating.  
  
**** The Odd Predicament ****  
  
All of my hatred that was going towards Potter is now aimed at muggles. Honestly, here I am, trying to redeem myself by telling a man whom I don't even know all of my 'sins' and he calls me the ultimate sinner, a spawn of Satan or something like that.  
  
OK, so I didn't know that being gay was a sin, nor did I know that being in love with a man who is twenty years younger than me and I'm old enough to be his father is bad. I figured that killing hundreds of people wouldn't go over too well, nor would the fact that I was in league with a man who killed /thousands/ of people wasn't all that great. But honestly, he accused me for being a follower of Satan because I practice 'witchcraft'.  
  
Am I'm the only one who finds something horribly wrong with that sentence? I do /not/ practice /witch/craft, I am a wizard. I practice magic, not /witchcraft/. And does it really matter that I never have prayed to their God Almighty in all 42 years of my existence? Apparently. I obliviated the priest and stalked out of there. So much for that idea.  
  
I had told Albus that I was joining the Christian church to confess my sins in hopes of becoming a priest during dinner last night. He asked me,  
  
"What ever for?"  
  
I replied, "To redeem myself."  
  
The coot thought it was a wonderful idea. Potter seemed a bit concerned for me, not that I cared. Although, the way he was tickling my palm with his fingers almost made me want to stay there at Hogwarts. Almost.  
  
So now I'm back at Hogwarts. I swing open the doors to the Great Hall, and walk a few steps in. Albus looks up from his food.  
  
"How did it go?" He inquires.  
  
I sneer. "They called me the ultimate sinner, so I obliviated the priest."  
  
The old fart looked almost pitying. "What a shame."  
  
"Indeed." And with that, I walked back up to the front table in my seat- next to Potter.  
  
Never in all of my years at Hogwarts, as a student or teacher have I told anyone my birthday. I have always lived in fear of what the staff or my peers might do to me. I gag at the thought of a disgusting birthday cake in my name written in gaudy gel icing. Have I ever mentioned that I hate cake? Any sort of cake? I even hate cup cakes. I hate every cake... except pound cake. I have a sweet tooth for that stuff.  
  
But I also know that if the staff were ever to find out when my birthday was, they would make it the biggest damn fiesta ever. Only because of one reason why- I'm Snape. They would probably think it bloody hysterical to have streamers around the great hall and slap one of those dumb party hats atop my head. I know they would do this because I heard them discussing it a couple years back. And people tend to think /I'm/ sadistic.  
  
My hatred for the muggles is gone, and aimed back at Potter. He is so irritating it blows the mind. I often wonder about his parents, and which one he gets it from. Both of them were equally irritating, in their on ways. I think Potter got a little bit of both from Potter senior and Evans. What a match made in hell, they were.  
  
The idiot boy kicks me from under the table. I glare at him. He smiles and hands me a parcel. What the.  
  
It's a birthday present, for me. Oh, shite... today is December 19th, my 43rd birthday. Oh, bloody hell. How did he figure this one out?  
  
The box is wrapped in green coloured wrapping paper with silver ribbon. It's disgusting. Of course, I don't want him to know that he guessed right, so I pretend not to know what is going on.  
  
"What's this for?" I growl at him.  
  
He smiles that damn bright, annoying smile. "For your birthday. Today /is/ the 19th, am I right?"  
  
Damn. "How do you know that today is my birthday?"  
  
"I asked Albus." He replied.  
  
I hate that man. I want to kill them both. I forgot that Albus knew when my birthday was. He's practically the only man who knew, up until now. I sort of had to tell him when he gave me the job as Potions Master.  
  
"So?" He seemed to be anxious for something.  
  
"So what?" I sneer at him. Surely, he doesn't expect me to-  
  
"Open it!"  
  
There is just sometimes that I hate Potter more than I normally do, due to certain circumstances. This just happens to be one of them.  
  
"Later," I growl at him.  
  
His eyes twinkle in that way that reminds me of a certain Headmaster. "Later, eh? I didn't think you wanted to shag so early, but if that's what floats your boat."  
  
I want to strangle him with a large wooden spoon. "No, /I'll/ open it later- without you."  
  
He pouts- as if that'll do anything. "Fine then. But if you want to thank me, I'll be here."  
  
What the-?  
  
I can't even get a chance to bitch at him because everyone is leaving to go to his or her next class. Shite. Where am I supposed to shove this thing? It's not all that big, so I guess I can put it one of my pockets.  
  
Ah, this is another reason why I just love my robes. I carry so many potions around with me. Little things from Pepper-up potions, to memory potions, to serious ones like the Veritaserum. I love threatening children.  
  
****  
  
There were twelve beakers broken, three cauldrons melted, eight detentions given out, and a total of 70 house points taken away- none given out. Hey, I had to give myself a little birthday present. 40 of those house points were from Gryffindor. Hah.  
  
Dinner was dull. Potter asked me if I opened up my gift yet, and I told him no. He seemed a bit distraught. I'll open it after dinner. Oh, and those of you who were wondering, yes, we were holding hands. Today we spaghetti for dinner. Blagh. I hate spaghetti. It's too messy for my tastes.  
  
After dinner I went down to my lovely dungeons and sat down with a shot of brandy. Peace at last. I sat down in my favourite armchair and looked at Potter's present, which was presently resting on the coffee table in front of me. I'm almost afraid to see what's in it. Well, it's now or never.  
  
I pick it up and look at the little tag. It reads:  
  
Severus-  
  
I didn't steal it, I swear, but I'll replace it anyway. Happy Birthday.  
  
-Potter  
  
I'm confused. What did he break or steal now? I look around my quarters to see if anything is missing. No, everything is in order. I look at the present questionably. What could have he done now?  
  
I slowly unwrap the horrible wrapping. I hate presents. Albus figured that one out a while ago. I throw the paper and ribbons into the fire and look down at the present.  
  
It's a jar of gillyweed.  
  
...What?  
  
Oh! That's right! Potter stole it during the Triwizard tournament! Hah, I forgot about that. Hmm. But he says he didn't steal it. That's not very Gryffindor like to lie. So Potter finally admits he stole from me. I have to find the bastard and yell at him. But where is he?  
  
Ah, yes, he said he'd be in the Great Hall. I look at my pocket watch and see that's a quarter to nine already. My, how time flies.  
  
I put on a heavier cloak, and venture out into the frigid corridors. On my way there, I catch three couples snogging, take off 20 points from Hufflepuff and 45 from Gryffindor and finally end up in the Great Hall.  
  
Potter is laid out on top of the Gryffindor table, facing up at the full moon. It shines right down onto him, giving off an eerie glow. Magical snowflakes are floating in the air, and I realize that it's snowing like mad out side. Potter's eyes are closed, as if he was sleeping. The sight is simply majestic. Not for long, though.  
  
I quietly take a seat at the Slytherin table and break the silence.  
  
"Twenty points from Gryffindor." I had to.  
  
Potter's green eyes (which seem more like an ice blue in this light) snap open, and he smirks.  
  
"What for?" He doesn't even bother looking at me. He just continues staring up into the night.  
  
"For stealing from a professor and wandering the school past hours." It sure is past hours. It's 9:05 to be exact.  
  
Potter sighs. "Number one, I never stole from you, Hermione and Dobby did, and number two, I'm not a student anymore. You can't take away points from me."  
  
Remind me to pound in that house elf's head the next time I see him, and hex Granger- err... Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"You're right," I say, "You're not a student."  
  
Gryffindor and Slytherin have had an animosity going between them since the founding days. Never does a Gryffindor pass into Slytherin territory, and vice versa. We are like light and day, hell and heaven. Crossing into the other's territory would break that grudge that has been held for hundreds of years.  
  
I am torn between sitting here at my place, the Slytherin table and walking over, crossing that line and sitting at the Gryffindor table next to Potter. It seems childish, but it is true. Sitting at that table means that I can never go back. Sure, I'd still be the head of Slytherin house still, I'd still have all of my qualities that make me a serpent, but I would never be the same. In order to go over there and sit at that table means giving up my Slytherin pride just to sit next to the most Gryffindor thing that has walked in these halls, next to Dumbledore. Am I really all that selfish?  
  
I think the answer is yes, for I have already gotten up, and I am walking over to him. I sit down on the chair (unlike Potter who is laying down on the table top), cross my legs and lean back so that my back hits the table. I can almost feel Potter's smile as I look up into the enchanted ceiling. It really is, well, enchanting.  
  
"You're welcome," He says after five good minutes of silence.  
  
I don't bother speaking. Why must I? But Potter, being who he is, feels like he has to.  
  
"So why are you really here, if you won't thank me?" He inquires. Good question coming from an idiot.  
  
"Wandering the halls," I lie. I don't even know why I do. Hey, I haven't lost all my Slytherin qualities just by sitting at a Gryffindor table.  
  
"Looking for students out of bed?" He asks. I hate small talk. I decide not to answer that one. "Well," he says, "there aren't any here. You could move on, you know."  
  
"Yes, I could." Well, this is pointless. I stand up to go.  
  
I feel that same hand I have felt in my hand for the past three months grab my wrist. Bloody hell. "Wait."  
  
I turn around to see his sitting up now. Why does he have that look on his face? What is he planning? Perhaps I should have stayed in St. Mungo's.  
  
"You're not leaving without saying good night are you? That's very rude of you."  
  
I cock an eyebrow at him. Who is he one to say if I'm rude or not. That gesture all on it's own is rude. I sigh. Might as well make him happy. "Good night, Potter."  
  
His hand hasn't let go of my wrist yet. In matter of fact, he's pulling me in. Oh Merlin, what am I to do? He's going to hug me.  
  
Or not.  
  
Merlin, he's kissing me. Oh, he's kissing me. This isn't happening. I must be drunk. Perhaps I can't hold my liquor as well as I thought I could. No, no, no this isn't real. I am dreaming, a wonderful, blissful dream. I am not doing this. Oh, Merlin, but I am.  
  
My eyes are shutting helplessly. Helplessly? Oh, no, Potter is making me helpless don't do this to me! I don't deserve his touches, his caresses, nor do I deserve this kiss. My body has a mind of it's own. The two parts that were being torn into two have now taken hold of everything. Between mind and heart, I'm choosing my heart with out my own permission. My arms slowly slink around his neck as he adjusts to swing his legs over the table so that he's sitting on the edge.  
  
I don't even know who I am anymore. Before Potter, I would have never let anyone hold my hand, or rest their head on my shoulder. I would never have walked over to the Gryffindor table, and I would have in all the seven hells, never kissed the boy who lived. With tongue. Wow.  
  
Where is he going? He's standing on the bench that his feet were resting on, and now he he's trying to step up to the table while still kissing. I don't want to stop, don't pull away. I step up to the bench and now Potter is standing on the table.  
  
How peculiar. I have never kissed anyone where I was the shorter one. With Potter standing on the table and me on the bench, he has a few centimeters on me. I'm practically on my toes trying to kiss him as deeply as I can.  
  
Screw this. I jump up to stand on the table, and pull him in as close as I can, and run my fingers through his silk soft hair.  
  
You know, all of this wasn't supposed to happen.  
  
I wasn't supposed to find Potter attractive. I wasn't supposed to let him flirt with me. I wasn't supposed to let him touch me that eventually led up to this kiss... oh, this glorious, wonderful kiss. This kiss that made the world and all of its horrendous problems disappear. This kiss that made me feel wanted, appreciated and...  
  
After about a good seven minutes of a kiss, we pull apart. His lips are swollen, and I can assure you mine more than likely are. His eyes are glistening with something I've never seen before. Oh, Merlin, help me now.  
  
The breathless words come spilling out of my mouth before I had a chance to even know what I was saying or doing.  
  
"I think I'm falling in love with you."  
  
Potter just smiles at me. "I love you, too."  
  
...and I wasn't supposed to fall in love. What an odd predicament I'm in. How am I ever going to explain this is Albus?  
  
There are black scuffmarks on the table.  
  
Finis  
  
****  
  
A/n Added June 3rd- Thank you to all those who reviewed. I might be writing a sequel sometime this month... so be on your toes, people. 


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